


Lost Hope.

by PsychaoticButterscotch



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Death, Grief, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Neglect, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Orphan - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sadness, Selectively Mute Frisk, Underfell, suicidal, swap fell, underswap - Freeform, undertale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychaoticButterscotch/pseuds/PsychaoticButterscotch
Summary: I want to live.





	Lost Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Why did you climb the mountain? 
> 
> Everyone knows the legend right...?  
> Travelers who climb Mt. Ebott are said to disappear...
> 
> Why would you ever climb a mountain like that?

Undertale

  


This story begins with a small skeleton waiting patiently in front of an elementary school that was filled with monsters and humans.

It has been only two years after all of monsterkind was free from the underground. When Frisk managed to help all of monsters find a home in the suburbs of the human city, it felt as if they felt home.

 To his surprise, most humans were very kind, accepting, to them. At first, they have been frightened, but who wouldn’t? Seeing a new species is conflicting, but when months have passed, monsters and humans got along. It was difficult since there were humans that were intolerant and ignorant of them, a few fights have been resulted, but at the end, everyone got what they wanted.

In a classroom, a brunette child peeled a layer of their skin off. Flicking it, they saw their thumb begin to become a pink color. With their index finger, they pressed their nail hard into the damaged skin, until a red liquid begin to trace the nail and stick to the finger.

“We will about the history of Mountain Ebott until tomorrow, everyone get home safe.”

Frisk stood up, grabbing their backpack and walked into the hallways, absentmindedly flicking their injured thumb with their index finger.

Once they reached the school gate, they met with a familiar skeleton.  
  
“Hey kid. How was school?”  Sans the skeleton smiled at the child. They nodded and they begun to walk home.

 

“So the duck said, _‘I’ve been quacked into my own bill!’_ Get it? Cause The duck is a drug dealer? I guess you wouldn’t understand, you are ten after all. Speaking of ten, have you _eaten_ something bad? You don’t look so good.” The skeleton reached to touch Frisk’s small hand and quickly tensed.

His boney fingers were covered in small dots of blood. He turned to Frisk and felt something off about them. They looked pale, but that could be a reaction to the weather? He’s not a human himself, but after reading some books about how humans work physically, mentally, and emotionally,  maybe the weather wasn’t the cause.

 “Kid, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Frisk looked at Sans and nodded.

Sans went into their backpack, from a small pouch, he zipped it open and grabbed a small box of bandages with small cartoons on it, tearing the seal open and wrapping the bandage onto their thumb.

He placed the box in the backpack and zipped it up. Frisk thanked him.

Sans looked down on them. “Kid, if there’s somethin’ wrong, you can tell me. I do know how to keep secrets.” 

They shook their head and gave them an assured smile to him.

 

Why is Frisk lying?

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

“Frisk! You can’t just _not_ tell me! You tell me everything! Aren’t we best friends?” The yellow flower waved his small green leaves at them. Looking up from their homework, they muttered,

 

_“...don’t confuse me with Chara…”_

 

The flower ‘glared’ at their friend. “I’m _not_ . I’m _fully_ aware of who I’m talking too. You always tell me to help others, but now since I have the _chance_ to help someone, they don’t want to be helped! Or comforted or whatever. Doesn’t this seem familiar?” The yellow flower mentioned.

 

Frisk continued with their homework, writing onto their notebook, listening but not acknowledging their friend.

 

It seems to not work. The flower sighed and leaned forward, covering Frisk’s hand with his petals.

 

“I’m trying, really, I am. But how am I supposed to help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, Frisk?”

 

The brunette gripped their pencil.

 

Oh, how the roles have exchanged.

 

_‘ C’mon Flowey. Isn’t this what you wanted? To be free? Let me help you…’_

 

Frisk pursed their lips and their head lowered.

 

“Of course I want to tell you what’s wrong, Flowey. It’s just…”

 

The flower looked up tilting it’s small head to the side.

 

“It’s just what?” The flower asked.

 

Should Frisk just blurt it out? No, they never told anyone this. Sure, maybe Chara when they were still in the underground, but that was long ago. No one really asked them why they went to the underground. Monsters just thought it was by coincidence, others think a mission gone wrong, or maybe that Frisk was another angel to help set them all free.

 

Toriel never asked, she seemed to be tense when Frisk brought up the question on why Chara went into the underground.

 

_‘I guess it was for the same reason you went, Frisk.”  Asriel muttered._

 

The kid begun to pick on their bandaged thumb.

 

“It’s just I never told anyone, Flowey. Except Chara. Ehm, I didn’t really think I would have to explain again.”

 

The flower’s face softened, “If it’s that bad, you don’t have too. Although, I’m really curious.” He whispered the last part.

 

Frisk shook their head. “I guess I do owe you an explanation. I know almost everything about you, your past, _who_ you were, _what_ you were. But I never told you mine. I would see how that’s unfair to you.” They lifted Flowey from the table and went on the bed to tell the story.

 

Once they got comfortable, well, Frisk got comfortable, their eyelids revealed a golden hue, and with one phrase, everything began to flow back.

 

Their memories that were buried long ago.

 

“This story begins with the day I was born.”

  


\----

 

A woman with dark brown hair held in a messy bun cradled a crying infant in her arms. She was covered with sweat from head to toe and she was so tired, but she was filled with happiness.

 

The baby’s cries were loud, and she tried her best to calm them down.

 

“Shh...Don’t cry, Frisk. Mama’s here.” The mother brought her trembling hand up and her index finger towards the baby’s chubby hands. The infant grabbed their tiny fingers onto their mother’s and began to simmer down. She smiled, her eyebrows knitted and kissed the top of her child’s forehead.

 

A tall man leaned against the doorframe, his white button down shirt was wrinkled, his sleeves folded onto his elbows. His brown hair was pulled into a small ponytail meanwhile his eyes were puffy yet focused on the female.

 

The tired mother glanced up and saw her husband walk to them.

 

Sitting on the wooden chair next to her, he marveled at his newly born child. “Do you want to hold them?” The woman offered, bringing Frisk closer to them.

 

The man nodded, hesitantly holding his kid carefully close to his chest, cradling them. They were so tiny. So helpless. This baby was like the size of a grapefruit. The child had such a chubby face, a button nose, and chunky eyes. They looked so much like the both of him and her.

 

“What’s their name?” His voice low, a raspy voice exited his lips.

 

The woman leaned onto the pillows, closing her eyelids. “Their name is Frisk. Isn’t that such a lovely name?” Her voice became softer, weaker. She felt so exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep. But somehow, it feels like she might sleep forever.

 

The man began to worry. “----? Are you okay?”

 

She laughed weakly, struggling to open her eyes. “----...You know...I won’t make it this long.”

 

She was blunt about it. It pained her. Her whole body felt as if it was begging to be shut down. Hours of labor, hours of excruciating ache, agonized screams, she finally did it, but she wouldn’t be able to be with them. She began to weep, and she didn’t want to die. She just wanted to be with her family. Her body felt so heavy, but with all the strength she can muster, all she is able to do is raise her frail hand to cup her husband’s that held the baby. She was sickly pale, her lips chapped and her eyes turning glossy as a few tears escaped. “Please, take care of them.” She coughed.

 

The man’s bangs shadowed his eyes, small teardrops dropped onto Frisk’s white blanket. Should he wail? Should he scream? No, he can’t. He should smile, an image his wife can keep in the afterlife, an image of him and their child that would comfort her until it was his time.

 

He clutched his wife’s falling hand gently, clenching his teeth as his smile began to falter, and her breathing became slower.

 

Their house was quiet, only the sound of crickets chirping from outside interfere the silence.

 

The man stood up and held his child, as if he was protecting them from every little thing. He talked to Frisk, showing the room, the hallway, their own room.

Once he set them down, the the baby began to panic, and he swiftly turned back, hovering over Frisk. Bringing his hand toward them, they grabbed his thumb and started to settle down. The baby still let out small whimpers and with his other hand, he lifted Frisk from the cradle and hugged them closely.

“It’s okay, Frisk. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you. I’m not _ever_ going to leave you. You’re my little planet...Heh, you mean to the world to me.” He grinned at them.

 

He felt Frisk’s baby cheeks and began to hum a tune that slowly lulled Frisk to sleep. Once the baby started to sleep, he laid them down onto the soft blanket and said his goodnights. Walking out the door, he closed the door but left it opened for a bit.

When he returned to his room with his wife’s corpse, sleeping peacefully forever, his heart pierced. His body twisted, gritting his teeth to prevent any sobs to wake up Frisk. He fell down to his knees, shaking hands grabbed his wife’s hand and held them tightly. Tears flowed down from his face, he looked away and shook violently. Shutting his eyes, his eyebrows scrunched up, he brought a hand to his eyes and began to sob silently.

 

**_‘I can’t wait to have this baby. Can’t you just imagine them in such cute outfits? I made them a small sweater!’_ **

 

**_‘I bet they would look adorable.’_ **

 

_‘ **Of course they’ll be adorable! Our family is finally coming together! I can’t wait to be there when their first word will be ‘mommy’!’** _

 

He sobbed harder covering his mouth from escaped cries. Why? Why now? He thought their lives will become better, happier.

 

He faces the fact, that life will always find a way to hurt them.

 

“----...Please... _Come back_..”, he panted, “please..for _me_.”

 

**But nobody came.**

 

\----------------

 

“ _Da_.”

 

“So close, Frisk.” He smiled. He poured the bucket of water onto Frisk’s soapy head.

 

The kid moved their hair with their chubby hands and looked at their dad.

 

“ _Da_!” They exclaimed enthusiastically, their arms in the air.

 

His raspy laughter lingered in the room, as he placed the bucket down and sat more comfortable on the small chair. He rested his arms on the side of the tub and watched as Frisk played with the pink bubbles that floated.

 

“ _Da_! _Da_!” Frisk smiled widely.

 

Their dad grabbed a green towel and rinsed them off before unclogging the bath.

 

Wrapping Frisk around with the green towel, he carried them and hugged them.

 

“C’mon Frisk, we’re going to the fields today.”

 

\-------

 

At this time, Frisk was five years old. They held onto their father’s hand as he sold some ingredients for his customers. Frisk was sitting down on a high stool, coloring on papers, few of them finished and others pinned to the wall.

 

Across the busy street, Frisk watched a group of older kids play a ball game. Their father was talking with some other older people. He’ll be fine, besides, it’s just across the street, he can see them from here, it is a field after all.

 

They hopped down from the seat and pushed the door open. Walking around, Frisk looked both ways of the street, and it seemed clear.

 

They can make it. Frisk walked across the street quickly and carefully. Once they reached the other side, they wondered if they can play with the other kids.

 

“You want to play with us? Sure!” A boy replied, smiling with a toothy grin.

 

“No, they can’t play with us! What if they get hurt and cry? I don’t wanna be in trouble.” A girl pointed out, staring at Frisk.

 

“I won’t get hurt! Please? Can I play?” Frisk pleaded, clasping their hands together.

 

The older kids shrugged and let them play.

 

About a few minutes passed and Frisk needed to head back. Looking both ways, Frisk ran quickly to their father’s stand. Just as they were about to enter, Frisk was knocked back and began to cry.

 

“Oh, shit- _shoot_!” A man hissed. Frisk’s father picked the kid up and started to apologize with kisses plastering over their face.

 

“Sorry Frisk. I didn’t see you there.” He rubbed their head.

 

As they felt better and the throbbing pain going away, they looked up at their father and asked “What’s a _shit_?”

 

“... _shit_ …”

 

\---------------------

 

It was a regular work day for Frisk’s father, as he sold food. “Listen ----, you’ve been working 24/7. Don’t you think you need a break? You’ve been lookin’ sick too.”

  


“I’ll be fine. It’s just a summer cold, nothing else.” He sniffled.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, when’s your kid going to school? If human resources hears about this you know what they’ll do.”

 

“Why do you think I’ve been working nonstop? We had to even move the couch here because with working overtime, Frisk’s gotta sleep. I can’t hire a babysitter either.” Frisk’s father admitted to his friend who was helping with selling food.

“Da, can I play with the other kids?” Frisk tugged on their father’s apron.

 

“Sure, sure, go ahead, Frisk, be careful.”

 

Frisk waved to their uncle, their father’s best friend, as he waved back.

 

They opened the door and across the street, they saw one of their friends wave at them. Waving back, they hurriedly ran across the street and started playing.

 

As it reached six o’clock, all the kids went home meanwhile Frisk was back in their father’s shop.

 

It was only the radio playing, and nighttime is usually busy. It was a normal day again for Frisk. They were coloring, listening to music, meanwhile their father was selling food.

 

Until there was a loud clash.

 

Frisk ran as fast as they can to their father’s post, peeking behind the door to see their father’s friend shielding him from an older looking man that wore expensive clothing while an older woman that wore an expensive magenta dress decorated with jewelry watch.

 

“You bastard! If only I knew you would be living here, I would’ve brought my shotgun!” The old man cursed.

Frisk became frightened.

“How dare you elope with our daughter! Now I hear from others she died?! How could you! You pathetic street rat, all of you! Lying, stealing, disgusting, _rats_!” The old woman emphasized.

 

A crowd of people in Frisk’s village gathered around the commotion.

 

“Please, sir, just leave. We don’t want this to escalate any further.” Frisk’s uncle shielded their father as he began to cough up blood.

 

The old man glared daggers at the both of them. “All of you should just be ashamed of yourselves! Peasants, all of you! You should all just be dead!” The old man bellowed, looking around.

 

Frisk’s father was struggling to get up, as his cough begun to worsen.

 

“Dude, are you okay?”

 

“Oh, what’s this? Karma hitting you? Tch, I hope that sickness of yours ends you painfully.” The old woman chided, turning her head.

 

Sickness? What sickness? Was Frisk’s father sick? But their father said it was just a cold. Nothing to worry about.

If only Frisk knew that their father isn’t the healthy man he used to be after his wife died.

The old man shoved back his friend, making him fall to the ground. The old man slipped his hand into his clothes and took out a small revolver from his white suit.

They stood teary-eyed and frozen. No, Dad can’t be hurt anymore! He can’t even stand up! Why is he doing this? Why are people just standing there?!

Breaking out from the trance, Frisk sprinted as fast as their little legs can take them and jumped in front of their father to shield.

When the trigger was pulled, their father’s eyes widened, he grabbed Frisk’s little body and cradled them tightly. He fell onto the ground still holding his child as the pain in his abdomen increased. Checking to see if Frisk was injured, he opened his arms to see them hugging them tightly, crying into his shirt.

Yells and gunshots began to cloud the atmosphere. Frisk and her dad just heard nothing but their heartbeats.

 

“Are you okay, kid? Focus on my heartbeat.” Their father gulped, his arms still protecting his child.

He felt his clothes shift and sighed. “Kid, please don’t do that again.” He croaked out. His golden eyes focused on the shuffling of feet and dust being kicked in his face. His throat felt it being clogged up by blood and mucus, coughing out, blood did leave, but Frisk hugged their father tighter.

 

_“Let’s go home, Frisk.”_

 

\------

 

Their father died by the blood loss and infection. On his bed, he sang a tune as Frisk sobbed next their father while their uncle took care of them by the time being.

Frisk was put in an orphanage. They became mute. Adults have put the child in intense therapy, but to no avail, they didn’t speak. So instead of speaking, some therapists taught Frisk sign language. Even though they taught them, they still wouldn’t talk about it. Frisk avoided them, just like how they avoided the sorrowful looks of others, they were withdrawn, isolated, and only wanted to cry, if not, then sing a small tune their father sang when Frisk would sleep.

 

Days have passed, and Frisk still hasn’t made any friends. They didn’t want to make friends. They didn’t want to do anything, no one understood them, no one didn’t actually feel like they care, and no one asked Frisk to do anything. But Frisk had to do something today, and that was to get ready to be chosen to be adopted.

 

Frisk didn’t want to be adopted. They just wanted to be with their family, their mom and dad. Not with people they don’t know.

 

As they waited, they heard some kids play.

 

_“No, Miss. traveler, you cannot go here!”_

 

_“Why not? I must search for the treasure!”_

 

_“Have you not heard the legends? Travelers who climb Mt. Ebott will never return!”_

 

Frisk heard of that legend. Everyone did. Low-class, middle-class, and upper-class. Most people just say that to warn their kids to not go there. Others say it’s a myth, others say it’s real.

 

With adoption day, the adults will be in a room talking, so no one will be able to supervise the kids.

 

Frisk had a goal and that was to climb Mt. Ebott.

 

\------

 

Frisk was finally here. They looked around, it was dark, and they thought about this.

A legend or myth, Frisk had a mission. Hesitation overcame them, but with one thing in mind, they made a decision. Going unnoticed, they tripped on a vine, making them fall, down below into the abyss.

Frisk watched as the bits of daylight hit their face, wishing to see their father and mother again. Shutting  their eyes tightly, teardrops slipped past their face.

 

This was it. Frisk knew how this works. Once they hit the ground, they’ll finally be with them again.

 

_They’ll be a family._

 

_They will finally be at home._

 

\-----------

 

“I thought...maybe if do that, I can finally have a home. Finally have a family. But now, I feel at home. I feel I have a family. I know they care, and I want to live for them and myself.” Frisk finished brittley, tears sliding down their cheeks, dropping into their hands.

 

Flowey nudged their forehead as they wept silently.

 

“No one can hurt you anymore Frisk.” Flowey comforted, small tears formed in the corner of their pupils.

 

Behind Frisk’s slightly open door, a small skeleton leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. He walked away, carefully not making a sound as he went to the living room, probably to be cheered by Papyrus.

 

  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
